


All of My Enemies Started Out Friends

by the_me09



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Beck is SUCH AN ASSHOLE, Broken Peter, Fake Tony Stark, First Time, Illusions, M/M, Peter is so needy, Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_me09/pseuds/the_me09
Summary: Peter turns on his heels, slowly. He had to have heard wrong, but there Tony Stark stands with his hands splayed like he’s just done a magic trick, a smile on his face. For once, there’s silence in Peter’s head.“Mr. Stark?”“The one and only, kid.” Mr. Stark grins at him.Everything in Peter crumbles.(Or Beck pretends to be Tony Stark to fuck with Peter)





	All of My Enemies Started Out Friends

Peter walks away from the bar with a skip in his step. The night is looking up. He’s given EDITH to Beck, and he’s going to tell MJ how he feels. He doesn’t want to think about how Beck looked like Mr. Stark with the glasses on, or how terribly he messed up with the Elemental.

He can’t stop though; his brain plays and replays the past couple hours until his good mood has passed. He’s a coward, a child. His friends were in trouble and all he could do was watch as Beck sacrificed himself. Peter stops walking for a moment.

_The monster explodes in a burst of green energy and dust, and left behind is Beck, sprawled in the rubble. Peter jumps from the Ferris Wheel, everything forgotten except the unmoving body in front of him. Terror grips him._

_His eyes fill with tears. He should have helped more, should have done something to stop Beck. Peter carefully touches his arm to roll him over. For a moment, Peter sees Tony’s face, his hair grayer than he last saw, half his face raw and burned, struggling for breath. Peter’s chest hurts._

Peter shudders and shakes his head. Beck is alive, and Peter doesn’t have to worry about being Spiderman the rest of the trip. He dashes back to the opera house to find his clothing stash and changes back into a white dress shirt and black pants. He stuffs the black stealth suit into his backpack then heads back to the hotel. It’s nearly two in the morning, so no one is out on the streets. Peter feels a chill and looks over his shoulder.

Only happy thoughts. He’ll give MJ the dahlia necklace. She’ll be so surprised he remembered it’s her favorite. He’ll say he likes her; she’ll say she likes him too, they’ll kiss, it’ll be like every teen movie ever.

Peter’s so lost in his head he nearly runs into a man in a suit.

“Oh sorry, sir,” Peter says, barely glancing at the person’s face. He keeps walking.

“That’s how you greet a man back from the dead?”

Peter turns on his heels, slowly. He had to have heard wrong, but there Tony Stark stands with his hands splayed like he’s just done a magic trick, a smile on his face. For once, there’s silence in Peter’s head.

“Mr. Stark?”

“The one and only, kid.” Mr. Stark grins at him.

Everything in Peter crumbles.

He throws himself at Mr. Stark, nearly knocking him to the ground. Mr. Stark feels solid and real, and smells like expensive cologne and motor oil. Peter’s eyes burn. How is this possible?

Mr. Stark pats him on the back, hugs him awkwardly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, careful how you handle the goods,” Mr. Stark says with a laugh.

Peter realizes he’s squeezing a too tight; he’s not always aware of his strength. Peter steps back, a little embarrassed. He stares at Mr. Stark in surprise and awe. He looks good, the grey gone from his hair and beard – _dye? _– his smile giving him those crinkles around his eyes that don’t make him look old, but kind and gentle.

“How are you here? How is this happening? I saw… I was right there… you…” Peter can’t say it, doesn’t want to admit that this could be a head injury, or a dream.

“You didn’t think I had contingency plans?” Mr. Stark says. “I invented time travel.”

“We have to call Ms. Potts… er… Mrs. Stark? Pepper? She’ll be so happy!” Peter says, feeling like he’s shouting. This is a miracle!

“You don’t think I went to see my wife first? You’re important Pete, but come on,” Mr. Stark says. “She told me where to find you. How else would I know to show up in Prague?”

Peter nods; of course, he’s such an idiot. He wouldn’t be the first person Mr. Stark came to find after returning from the dead. Mr. Stark’s probably been back for days without Peter knowing. That thought makes Peter’s throat ache. He doesn’t want to dig into why he thinks Mr. Stark would find him first. It doesn’t matter. Mr. Stark is back and everything is great.

“Let’s get you back to your hotel. What are you doing out this late anyway?” Mr. Stark says. “Tell me what’s new in your life, squirt?” Mr. Stark puts a hand on his shoulder as they walk.

Peter pours out the story of Fury showing up in his and Ned’s hotel room, of Beck and the Elementals, the new stealth suit. He tells Mr. Stark everything that’s happened in the past couple days. Even the embarrassing parts he’d normally try to gloss over, like getting caught with his pants down with a strange woman and calling a drone on one of his classmates. Mr. Stark just laughs, makes jokes, asks questions so Peter talks the whole way to the hotel. It feels amazing.

“Don’t go yet,” Peter says when they get to the hotel. He’s afraid that once Mr. Stark leaves he won’t come back, like this is just a dream, or a once in a lifetime opportunity. He doesn’t want to say goodbye. Not again.

“I should meet with Fury and give him a piece of my mind about what he’s said to you,” Mr. Stark says with a huff. “I know he’s big on tough love, but you’re a kid.”

It takes everything in Peter not to hunch his shoulders. He shrugs jerkily and nods. “Oh, yeah, I mean… if you have to. I’m sure you’ve got lots of important stuff to do now that you’re back.” Peter swipes at his face. He’s not going to cry, dammit.

“You okay, Pete?” 

Peter wants to say no, wants to cling to Mr. Stark and cry his eyes out. He’s so happy, and so terrified this is temporary. Instead he bobs his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m totally fine, really glad to have you back. Super glad.” Peter tries to smile, but his vision is blurry with tears. God, he’s such a wreck.

“Glad to be back,” Mr. Stark says. He turns away and Peter’s stomach drops. Mr. Stark only takes two steps away before Peter lets out a strangled noise.

“Wait,” Peter says, his voice cracking. It’s so embarrassing, ugh, but Mr. Stark turns halfway to him and quirks an eyebrow. Peter can’t stop the tears streaming down his face. Ugh, ugh, he’s crying in front of Mr. Stark like a big baby.

“Woah, woah, no need for the waterworks,” Mr. Stark says. His face softens looking at Peter in a way he hasn’t before. “I can stay a little while longer.”

Mr. Stark puts his arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s raid your minibar,” Mr. Stark says.

Thankfully there isn’t anyone in the lobby except the concierge and she doesn’t even look up from the counter. Peter can’t imagine what kind of reaction people would have to seeing Mr. Stark again. They make it to Peter’s room without seeing any of his teachers or Ned, who would flip if he met Mr. Stark. Peter wants this moment to himself. He feels bad, but if this is a dream he doesn’t want to share it with Ned or anyone else. 

Peter sends a text to tell Ned that he’s alive and the Elementals are gone. He doesn’t check to see if Ned replies, just throws his phone on the desk when they get to his room. 

Mr. Stark is alive, and Peter wants to catch up with him. He’ll see Ned and MJ tomorrow.

Peter turns around to catch Mr. Stark downing a tiny bottle of vodka. Peter hasn’t seen Mr. Stark drink before, but he guesses coming back from the dead is good enough reason as any. 

“So where are the EDITH glasses?” Mr. Stark asks, putting the bottle on top of the desk.

Peter’s stomach hollows out. Of course, Mr. Stark wants his glasses back. That’s why he sought Peter out. Shit, and he gave them away like an idiot.

“Uh… I gave them to Mr. Beck.” Peter says. “Did- did you really mean for me to have them? I mean, I’m still in high school. I’m sure we can ask him for them back, I know where he’s going to be tomorrow,” Peter babbles, and he can’t stop. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I thought you meant for me to pick the next Tony Stark; I didn’t know you’d come back. I’m so glad you’re back, though. I totally understand if you’re disappointed in me, I let you down. I didn’t want to fight the elementals! After all you sacrificed to save the world I was just going to let someone else do it.” Peter’s breath hitches. Mr. Stark uses the pause to step closer, holds Peter by the arms gently. He didn’t realize how badly he was shaking until Mr. Stark steadied him.

“I’m not disappointed, kid,” Mr. Stark says gently. “If you think Beck deserves them, I trust you. I was giving you a choice. I’ll rendezvous with Beck, see what kind of guy he is, maybe ask for EDITH back, maybe not. It’s not really relevant now that I’m back,” Tony says with a shrug. “C’mon, sit down kid, before one of us has a heart attack.”

Peter sits next to Mr. Stark on the bed. He wipes at his face again; shit, he has to stop crying. Mr. Stark rubs his back, his hand warm through Peter’s shirt. He’s alive, mind-bogglingly alive. Part of Peter still can’t believe it.

“You have never been this quiet for this long, what’s going on in that head?” Tony taps him on the forehead with a small smile.

Peter smiles slightly and huffs a laugh. “I- I’m just- I’m so glad you’re back. Everyone kept asking me who will be the next Tony Stark, but… but no one really could be, you know? You’re- you’re the only one.” Peter fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt and glances at Mr. Stark from the corner of his eyes.

“You’re a sweet kid, Peter,” Tony says, his voice low and soft.

“It’s- I’m- it’s just fact, really. Who else could cheat death, I mean… Beck’s existence proves there’s a multiverse out there - are you from a slightly different world where, like, the Monopoly guy has glasses instead of a monocle or something? How did you do it?” Peter talks quickly to cover the way his cheeks feel warm under Mr. Stark’s gaze.

“Time-travel mumbo jumbo, multiverse slipstreams, suit coordinates, it’s a lot of technical jargon, kid,” Mr. Stark says, waving a hand.

Peter opens his mouth, but Mr. Stark cuts him off.

“Promise I’ll explain in more detail later. I came here to make sure you’re okay. We went to space together, saw the end of the world, it’s a lot for a high schooler,” Mr. Stark says.

“And fought Thanos,” Peter adds with a half-smile.

Mr. Stark throws his hands up. “And fought Thanos, definitely can’t forget that!” He looks at Peter for a long moment. “So how are you doing? You good?”

Peter nods, his smile growing. “Yeah, now that you’re back, I’m great.”

“Great, cool, mission accomplished; you said Beck is going to Berlin?” Mr. Stark checks his watch. Peter doesn’t really remember saying that, but he must have. He doesn’t always remember the stuff that comes out of his mouth.

“Yeah, with Fury.”

Mr. Stark stands up and claps his hands. “Then off to Berlin I go.”

Peter is doing really great, and he’s totally ready to say goodbye, but his stomach twists with the irrational fear that if Mr. Stark walks out the door Peter will never see him again. It’s almost three in the morning; Peter should be going to sleep. He doesn’t feel tired though. Mr. Stark’s hand is on the doorknob when Peter vaults off the bed.

“Wait! Wait, uh, don’t you want to know what happened to the other Avengers, or- or I could tell you about my school year, or… Aunt May! You liked Aunt May… well, I mean… you’re married now so maybe that’s weird. I just-” Peter looks around the room. He’s such an idiot, he sounds like an idiot. He should just let Mr. Stark walk away. He’ll see him again in a couple days, probably. “I don’t want you to go yet,” Peter says quietly.

He knows it’s weird and needy and eventually Mr. Stark will have to go to Berlin to meet with Beck and Fury, to let the intelligence community know he’s alive. But right now, he has Mr. Stark’s full attention in a way he never really has, and he just wants to keep it.

Mr. Stark lets go of the doorknob and turns toward Peter, one eyebrow arched in surprise. The look is so familiar, so Tony that it makes Peter’s heart ache. Mr. Stark turns the lock, and engages the deadbolt and chain on the door.

“You really missed me, huh?” Mr. Stark shakes his head with a small smile.

“I mean… yeah,” Peter says, his voice high pitched.

Mr. Stark steps closer and pulls Peter into a hug. Peter goes easily, holding on tight, but making sure not too tight. He can hear Mr. Stark’s heart beating, and it brings him peace. Mr. Stark holds Peter’s chin gently with one hand and tips his face up. This is nice, they’ve never been this close before. Then Mr. Stark’s mouth is on Peter’s, warm and soft. Shock courses through Peter, makes him hesitate before pushing himself away from Mr. Stark. His legs hit the bed and Peter pinwheels his arms before flopping back. He hears Mr. Stark stumble.

What the _hell_ just happened? Peter lays there for a moment, trying to gather himself. Did Mr. Stark just kiss him? What the hell? What- why? Peter sits up, eyes wide. Mr. Stark has stepped closer to the bed, looks down at Peter with something hungry in his gaze. Peter’s stomach twists, but he can’t tell what the emotion behind it is, and that scares him.

“Mr. Stark? What…” Peter can’t even.

“You seem like you’re a little tense, Pete. I could help with that.” Mr. Stark smirks.

“I- what? You… _what_?” Peter stares at Mr. Stark, waiting for him to get to a punchline.

“You’re married!” Is the best excuse he can come up with.

“Pepper and I have an understanding; we’ve talked about these sorts of things.”

Mr. Stark steps forward, between Peter’s spread legs where they hang off the bed. Peter’s mouth goes dry, and he forces his gaze up to Mr. Stark’s face. He doesn’t think about how close he is to Mr. Stark’s crotch, or how easily he could lean forward and brush against him. But by trying not to think about it, it’s really all he’s thinking about. Mr. Stark’s dick is like… right there.

Peter breathes in shallowly, wants to say something, anything to dispel this horrible, hypnotizing tension. Mr. Stark reaches out and rubs his thumb over Peter’s bottom lip. Peter’s breathing stutters. He’s afraid to move. What’s happening? Why isn’t he moving away, pushing Mr. Stark away? He could, he knows he’s stronger than Mr. Stark, especially without the Iron Man suit. But he’s not doing that. Peter waits for Mr. Stark’s next move, and the thought floats across his mind to try that kiss again.

Fuck, this is so fucked up. Maybe this is a dream after all, but Peter didn’t think his mind was this twisted. Maybe it is. He’s still doesn’t move away as Mr. Stark presses down on Peter’s lower lip until it kind of hurts, then leans forward, and Peter still _still_ doesn’t move as Mr. Stark kisses him again. His hand drifts to Peter’s chest, the open collar of his shirt. Fuck, if that doesn’t feel good. Peter hesitates for a moment before closing his eyes and kissing back.

Anyone who says they don’t have a crush on Tony Stark is lying. Like seriously, he’s been a celebrity for, like, ever. He’s a sex symbol, a symbol of power, and status, and brains. He’s everything Peter’s ever wanted to be, and now Mr. Stark wants him. Is Peter supposed to say no? Peter mostly likes girls, but he can’t deny that he’s definitely jerked off thinking about some of the male Avengers. You don’t fight Captain America and then not have dreams about that ass.

Peter moves his lips against Mr. Stark’s, feels the scratch of his goatee against his cheeks. Mr. Stark’s tongue slips into his mouth and Peter makes a breathy noise. Feels heat in his face and his ears. What is he supposed to do with his hands? The kiss is slow, deep, like they have all the time in the world. Peter tastes the tang of alcohol in Mr. Stark’s mouth. It flashes across his mind that he probably tastes like sprite… what a kid. At least it wasn’t actual lemonade?

Mr. Stark leans back, just a little, and Peter feels dazed. Blinks at Mr. Stark, whose brown eyes are dark, pupils huge. He smiles and pushes on Peter’s chest, pushing him down on the bed. Is this really happening?

Mr. Stark kisses Peter again; this kiss is hungrier, sharper. Peter tries to keep up, grips Mr. Stark’s shoulder. He needs something to hold onto; he feels like he’s being swept away into something he doesn’t fully understand. Mr. Stark leans into him and the pressure makes Peter shiver and want to arch up. He’s totally hard in his pants already. Mr. Stark nips at his lower lip and Peter gasps, does arch, pressing their chests together. Peter slides a hand up the back of Mr. Stark’s neck to touch his hair, it’s soft in his fingers, feels longer than he thought.

Mr. Stark pulls back, his lips red and shiny. Peter wonders if he looks as disheveled. He leans in, sucks on Mr. Stark’s lower lip. He’s been turned on and restless before, but this is a whole new feeling, out of control, shameless. Senses overloaded and his brain bombarding him with images of Mr. Stark naked, of their dicks pressed together in one fist. He can’t quite picture further than that.

“Let’s get these clothes off you,” Mr. Stark purrs against Peter’s mouth.

He slips a hand under Peter’s shirt and brushes his thumb over Peter’s nipple. A jolt goes through Peter at the touch, his skin sensitive. Everything feels tight and hot all of the sudden. His pants are scratchy and constricting. He feels like there’s a band around his lungs, like he can’t get a breath deep enough. Peter fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, practically ripping it off. His hands shake.

“Breathe, Peter; do you want me to stop?” Mr. Stark pulls away entirely and cold rushes in. Peter brings his legs up lightning quick before Mr. Stark can get too far away, cages him in, wraps his legs around Mr. Stark’s waist before he knows what he’s doing.

“No,” Peter whispers. God, he knows this is so wrong, but it’s like the animal part of his brain has taken over and all he wants is more of this.

He wants friction.

Mr. Stark smirks. Peter lets his legs drop, embarrassed. What is he doing? This is Mr. Stark, the _Tony Stark_ propositioning Peter? And okay, sure, maybe he’s had a little teensy-weensy crush on Mr. Stark, and maybe its only gotten worse since Mr. Stark offered for him to move into the Avengers compound. And if he’s had a couple dreams about something like this, it’s because he’s a teenage boy going through puberty and nothing is safe.

Mr. Stark puts a knee on the bed between Peter’s legs and crushes their mouths together again. Peter kisses back without hesitation this time, eager. Mr. Stark climbs on the bed, and presses some of his weight against Peter, his thigh rubbing over Peter’s dick. Peter groans, loudly and then pulls back to clap a hand over his mouth. Mr. Stark just grins down at him with delight.

“You like that, Pete?” Mr. Stark says, and rolls his hips against Peter’s. He can feel the hard line of Mr. Stark’s dick against his thigh, his stomach coiling tight. He muffles his moan with his hand, looks up at Mr. Stark wide-eyed. He can’t stop making these noises.

Peter trembles slightly, rolls his hips up experimentally and the heat that races up his body at the friction forces another groan out of his throat, softer this time. This is waaaay better with an actual person.

Mr. Stark pulls his hand away from his mouth. “C’mon, honey, let me hear you,” Mr. Stark says with a grin.

Peter’s dick twitches at the tone of Mr. Stark’s voice. Mr. Stark kisses along his jaw, nips at his ear, covers Peter’s body with his own, their hips rolling together slowly. Peter moans softly, panting, his hands fluttering over Mr. Stark’s shoulders, unsure where to land. He has that feeling like when he’s watching porn when Aunt May is home, like he could get caught doing something wrong. Guilt and arousal wage war inside him.

Mr. Stark runs his hands over Peter’s chest, following with his mouth, kissing and biting at Peter’s chest. Peter settles his hands on Mr. Stark’s waist, digging in his fingers, holding onto him to press up against his thigh harder. He can’t stop wiggling and rolling his hips or he’s sure he’ll die. Mr. Stark closes his mouth around Peter’s nipple and it’s like he’s a live wire, electric and burning up, sizzling under Mr. Stark’s touch. Mr. Stark scrapes his teeth over Peter’s nipple and it zings straight to his hips, which jerk of their own accord, throwing off their rhythm. He closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations.

The pace changes, Mr. Stark pressing down on him, every thrust sending tingles through Peter’s body. The attention to his nipples, the hands roaming, like he’s being enveloped by Mr. Stark and he kinda loves it. Then Mr. Stark slides a hand under his back, cups Peter’s ass and squeezes, guiding his hips. There’s nothing but friction and heat and all Peter can think is _fuckfuckfuck ooh my god, fuck. _He wants to push his pants off, doesn’t really know where they’re going with this. He thinks about Mr. Stark’s cock in his throat, and he can’t breathe, salivating. He wants everything, wants to feel it all. Peter’s eyes fly open, his body strung tight. He’s about to come and they haven’t done anything. He tries to picture Aunt May, but that feels weird; he thinks about baseball, and Ned, and any fucking sport he can picture, but none of it helps.

“So good for me, Peter,” Mr. Stark sighs, his hands all over Peter’s ass.

Fireworks go off in his brain, his body out of his control, spasming and jerking up against Mr. Stark. He might be babbling stuff, or maybe he’s just moaning, but Mr. Stark groans in response and grinds down on him, sending Peter into another round of spasms, his cock pulsing.

Peter goes limp and boneless, and for a moment everything is great. He feels hazy and happy. Best. Orgasm. Ever.

Then, as his come cools and sticks to him, he realizes that he just came… in his pants… in front of Mr. Stark. Peter’s eyes fly open and he scrambles away from Mr. Stark. Oh my god, he’s such a fucking idiot, like, could he seem more like a horny teenager?

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark! I didn’t mean- I- I hope I didn’t get anything on you, god, uh, if you need your suit dry cleaned I can pay for it. I’m so sorry, so so sorry-”

“Pete,” Mr. Stark says with a warm smile.

“I just didn’t know how to stop, it felt so good, and you’re so good, and I just-”

“Pete, kid,” Mr. Stark says a little louder, trying to talk over him. Peter shuts his mouth quickly. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. It was hot, watching you lose control.”

Peter opens his mouth to say something, manages only a couple aborted noises, and then closes it again. Mr. Stark just called him hot. He just came in his pants and Mr. Stark thought it was hot. What is his life? Peter’s chest feels warm, and he’s probably blushing down to his nipples, but he’s too nervous to look.

“Do you need, um, I can help with…” Peter gestures at Mr. Stark’s pants. They’re still obviously tented from the way he’s kneeling on the bed.

“What do _you _want, Peter?” Mr. Stark asks, expression intent. It’s the second time Peter’s been asked that tonight, and his answer changed so quickly. He had wanted to tell MJ how he feels, but now… Mr. Stark is alive. Mr. Stark is alive and wholly focused on Peter, and that’s all he wants right now.

A dark, horny part of his mind just whispers the word _more_. He wants more of that, more touch, more friction, more kisses. He wants to see Mr. Stark naked, and taste him, and have Mr. Stark tell him how good he is, how hot he is, how much he cares.

Peter glances down at the bed, plucking at the bedspread. He wants Mr. Stark so bad it hurts, and what if he never has this chance again? What if this is a one-time back from the dead special? Shouldn’t Peter ride this train as far as Mr. Stark is willing to go? Is it wrong to want this?

“Hey kid, I think you’re getting lost in that big brain. Should I go? We can write this off as an accident,” Mr. Stark says, leaning down to get in Peter’s peripheral vision.

“I want more…” Peter mumbles and bites his lip.

Mr. Stark cups his ear and leans forward. “What was that? You gotta speak up, kid, I’m getting old.”

“I want more,” Peter says a little louder, still not looking up.

He hears Mr. Stark shifting closer, but the touch on his chin startles Peter into looking Mr. Stark in the eyes. He has really nice eyes, warm, caring, and solely focused on Peter. Peter’s ears get hot, god; is he in some crappy romance? What is wrong with his brain today?

“Tell me what you want, Peter, and it’s yours,” Mr. Stark says, smiling at him.

“I want you,” Peter says quickly before he loses his nerve. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, and his skin is getting all tight and hot again.

“Do you now?” Mr. Stark says with delight. “How do you want me?”

“I- I- well, like- I just…” Peter can’t get any words out. His brain is honestly going to melt out of his ears.

“C’mon, sweetheart, tell me how you want it.” Mr. Stark’s voice is low, soothing. Like Peter’s some spooked animal. God, he’s such an idiot, but he can’t spit the words out. “Do you want to fuck me, Peter? Suck me off? Or do you want me to suck you off? Eat you out? Make you whimper and scream loud enough for your classmates to hear? Bet they’d be jealous, they’d wonder who you were fucking.”

Peter’s mouth falls open; he can’t look away as Mr. Stark presses closer, presses Peter against the headboard. Mr. Stark’s hand is on his bare chest, playing with one of Peter’s nipples, and fuck it feels so good to be touched again, he hadn’t realized how he was aching for it. Mr. Stark leans close, his stubble scratching Peter’s cheek.

“Or do you want me to fuck you, Pete? Fuck you deep, and hard, so you’ll feel it tomorrow and think of me whenever you sit? Squirming in your seat on the plane home, remembering how good I made you feel?” Mr. Stark whispers in Peter’s ear.

He can’t breathe he wants it so bad. It’s dirty, it’s wrong, Peter knows it, but this is like a fantasy come to life.

Mr. Stark sits back on his heels, and the space between them is too much, too wide. Peter shivers, already almost fully hard again.

“Tell me what you want, kid,” Mr. Stark says, his voice normal again, just asking a simple question.

Peter licks his lips; his mouth is so dry. “Fuck me,” he says breathlessly. His stomach is tied in knots, but god, he wants to know what it’s like.

Mr. Stark’s grin is hungry and feral. He surges forward and kisses Peter deeply, stealing the rest of his breath away. Mr. Stark’s hands are already at Peter’s pants, undoing them, pushing down… and Peter remembers that he’s already come, he’s a mess, he fought an elemental monster and probably smells weird and oh god.

“Wait, wait, Mr. Stark,” Peter pants out against Mr. Stark’s mouth.

Mr. Stark pauses, leans back with a worried expression.

“Change of heart?”

“No, no, definitely not.” Peter says quickly. Oh my god, as if he didn’t want Mr. Stark, yeah right. “I just- I need to… clean up a little. I should…” Peter points to the bathroom.

Mr. Stark leans back further, gestures for Peter to go for it.

“You’ll be here?” Peter says, hating the fear in his chest that Mr. Stark will leave, or disappear, or that Peter will wake up and find it was a dream.

“I’ll be right here when you’re ready, kid,” Mr. Stark says and makes a gesture like crossing his heart. Peter nods and hops off the bed, hurrying into the bathroom and locking the door.

Peter looks in the mirror, and _shit, _he looks wrecked. His hair is all over the place, his face is red and blotchy, there are beard burns around his mouth, like he drank too much Kool-Aid. There’s a light hickey on his chest that will probably be gone by the time he goes back in the bedroom. And there is definitely rubble in his hair and bruises on his chest and back. 

Fuck, okay. “You got this, Pete,” he mutters to himself. He pushes his pants off in a hurry, nearly tripping on the leg. He gets a washcloth and rubs soap on it, cleans himself up, his dick still half hard. He gets a different washcloth and washes under his armpits, sprays some of his cologne. He wishes he had a mint in here. Is this how girls feel? He shakes his head at that; not a helpful thought. He washes his crack, unsure what else to do.

“Be cool, Pete, you’re about to have sex for the first time. It’ll be awesome, Mr. Stark knows what he’s doing. You got this.” Peter looks at himself in the mirror again, tries to make his hair all go to one side. He definitely wants this, right? Yeah, he does.

“Okay…” he’s about to open the door when he realizes he’s still naked. Should he put underwear on? All his underwear is in his suitcase in the other room. Is he the kind of guy who can just step out naked? Definitely not.

Peter wraps a towel around his waist. He feels kind of queasy, but it’s just nerves. He opens the door and relief floods him at the sight of Mr. Stark, who’s turning the lights down low, but not off. He’s partly out of his suit, but still has pants on. The room feels cozier, smaller.

Mr. Stark turns to look at him and whistles softly. “Damn, you look good, kid,” he says.

Peter ducks his head. “Uh, thanks, Mr. Stark. You- you look good too.” Peter says.

“C’mere,” Mr. Stark gestures for him to get closer. Should he drop the towel? Is that weird? Peter goes to Mr. Stark at the edge of the bed.

“You nervous? You seem stiff.” Mr. Stark smiles, he cups Peter’s cheek. His hand slightly rough on Peter’s face.

“I mean… a little,” Peter says. It would be super obvious if he lied and said he wasn’t nervous at all. He thinks about Mr. Stark dirty talking, about fucking him so deep and hard he’ll feel it tomorrow and the blood rushes to his dick.

“It’s okay, I’ll take good care of you,” Mr. Stark kisses Peter, slowly, thoroughly, until Peter feels dizzy with breathlessness and excitement. He keeps trying to turn the kiss harder, but Mr. Stark just pulls back a little, just for a moment and then captures his mouth again, so slow Peter thinks he’ll grow a beard before they ever move on.

“Anyone ever tell you patience is a virtue, kid?” Mr. Stark laughs as he pulls back.

“Only like twice a day every day, but who has time for that? I’m ready for more, I mean, this is good, great, kissing is awesome, but I’m only wearing a towel and you haven’t even come yet, so…” Peter trails off, realizing how fucking awkward he is for the millionth time.

Mr. Stark laughs and raises an eyebrow at him. Peter blushes and wrinkles his nose.

“Uh, I didn’t-”

“Stop talking kid. You think you’re ready? Drop the towel then,” Mr. Stark says. He’s calling Peter’s bluff, oh shit. Is he ready? 

Yes, duh, totally ready for sex, for sure. He is _definitely _not making a mistake. 

Peter clenches his fist around the towel, huffs out a breath, and drops it. He is totally naked in front of Mr. Stark. This is happening. Mr. Stark looks him up and down like he’s a piece of fascinating tech ready to be disassembled.

“You do look ready,” Mr. Stark teases, and then _holy shit _he’s touching Peter’s dick and it feels amazing. Just one quick stroke, but it has Peter weak in the knees.

“Get on the bed, on your stomach,” Mr. Stark says, and steps aside. He opens the drawers of the bedside table, and then the desk, shaking his head. Peter lays on his stomach; even the pressure of laying on his dick feels good. He could just rub himself against the bed, but that would be embarrassing. More embarrassing than coming in his pants. Probably.

“Do you have any Vaseline?”

“Uh, no, I have some Chapstick in my backpack?” Peter says. Mr. Stark looks at him and tilts his head.

“Don’t think that’s gonna work for what I’m planning, kid.” Mr. Stark snorts a laugh.

Peter blushes and hides his face in a pillow. Wow, yeah, he is not thinking right. They needed Vaseline for lube. For sex. Because they’re going to have sex, yep. Peter wants to sink through the bed.

“I wanted to do it this way, anyway,” Mr. Stark says, more to himself than Peter.

He turns his head to watch Mr. Stark take off his pants. He’d been too nervous about his own looks to really take in the muscles of Mr. Stark’s chest, the scarring in a large circle with branches extending toward his nipples. He’s stocky, sturdy, powerful. Peter feels long and awkward in comparison. He’s all limbs, unbalanced and gangly, whereas Mr. Stark is centered, steady.

And then Peter’s eyes drop. He licks his lips before he realizes what he’s doing. His mouth is so dry. Mr. Stark’s cock is thick, maybe not as long as Peter’s but it seems so much more intimidating for that. It curves up toward his hip to the right, whereas Peter’s goes left. He shouldn’t be cataloguing these stupid details, but if he doesn’t what will he think about? How badly he wants to put his mouth on the red-pink head of Mr. Stark’s dick, how he wants to see if he can fit the whole thing in his mouth, if being super powered gave him the ability to not gag?

Peter turns his head and stares forward at the headboard, eyes wide. He did not think he was so dirty and needy, or so gay. He definitely likes boobs, but he’s never really seen a naked woman outside of porn before.

“Getting lost in your head again, Pete?” Mr. Stark says. He climbs onto the bed, pushing Peter’s legs apart to settle between them.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter’s voice cracks as he realizes what’s about to happen. Is he going to come instantly? Shit, could he be more awkward?

His skin goes cold, then hot at the brush of Mr. Stark’s hands. Mr. Stark gently pulls his hips up so he’s kneeling, props some pillows under Peter so it’s easier to keep this position. His stomach rolls with nerves, and it sort of feels like his Peter tingle is coming back, strangely, but then Mr. Stark runs his hands over Peter’s thighs and up over his ass, squeezing it. Peter’s worries dissolve; no one has ever touched him like this. He holds back a moan, pulling another pillow toward him to hang onto.

“God, you’re like a work of art,” Mr. Stark says.

And then he licks Peter’s asshole. Peter yelps and squirms away in surprise, but Mr. Stark holds his hips tight. Peter doesn’t really have good enough traction to get away, not in the position he’s in.

“What the- Mr. Stark- that’s not-” Peter doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He’s in shock. People really do this? Is this sexy?

Mr. Stark leans back, hands still gripping Peter’s hips, says “Is this okay? You have to get wet for me, Pete. I don’t want to hurt you.” Mr. Stark kisses his tailbone, and then bites at his ass.

His brain might actually melt. Definitely sexy.

“Yeah, uh, I mean, if you’re sure…”

His answer comes in the form of Mr. Stark’s tongue… all up in him. And once Peter gets past the weirdness, it feels fucking amazing. Peter squirms back, trying to get more pressure, deeper. Mr. Stark’s tongue teases at his entrance, licks right behind his balls, spreads him open with his thumbs and licks deeper. Peter whimpers, shifting his hips to get pressure against the pillow under him.

“If you come again, I swear to God, Peter.” Mr. Stark is teasing, but Peter’s skin tightens, hot and embarrassed.

Mr. Stark pulls the pillow out from beneath Peter’s hips, so his cock is bobbing in the air and pulls him back, further up on his knees. There’s a probing feeling and then something thick tries to press into Peter. He gasps, tenses; it feels too big. He glances over his shoulder and realizes it’s only a finger. What is a dick going to feel like then? Peter shivers at the thought.

Mr. Stark keeps licking and biting, and Peter whimpers, smashes his face into a pillow, panting out of the side of his mouth.

“You’re doing great, honey, so good for me,” Mr. Stark murmurs, his voice sounding weird. He did just have his tongue in Peter’s ass, though. “So good, so beautiful, you’re going to feel so good on my dick. I’m gonna make it good for you, Pete.”

Peter relaxes slowly as he feels a second finger press into him. It stings, but Mr. Stark goes slow, spitting on his fingers, licking into Peter. It’s filthy, pornographic sounding, and Peter has to concentrate to not come again. He feels another finger enter him, doesn’t know what number they’re at now. Peter’s getting impatient despite the sting and burn, wants it faster. He shifts his hips back and suddenly sparks zip up his spine and right into his head. He lets out a choked gasp and pushes back again, moans loudly and drops his head into the pillow. It’s so much easier to not think, to sink into his body and just feel. 

He hears Mr. Stark’s warm laugh. “Found it,” he says, moves his fingers again and Peter can’t catch his breath. His cock twitches, dripping precum onto the bed. “And that is your prostate.” He doesn’t touch that spot again, and Peter’s secretly glad because he’d probably blow his load immediately.

“You ready, kid?” Mr. Stark murmurs. “I’m so hard for you, sweetheart.”

Peter’s gut clenches. “Uh huh, yeah,” Peter manages. Words are hard.

Suddenly the fingers are gone. Peter feels empty, clenching around nothing. He digs his fingers into the bedspread, whimpers.

There’s blunt pressure against his hole, so much bigger than the fingers, so much thicker than he thought. Peter pushes back and he feels the head of Mr. Stark’s cock pop into him. Peter stops moving, mouth open, panting harshly onto the pillow. He thinks he’s drooling. Thankfully, his cock softens slightly. Peter wipes at his mouth and tries to breathe normally, but it still sounds like he’s run a marathon. It’s too much, the sounds, the feelings, Peter’s senses are overwhelmed with Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark eases into him, slowly letting Peter adjust. Peter keeps clenching around the intrusion involuntarily, his body unsure whether to push or pull deeper. Mr. Stark grunts, moans between his teeth. Peter shudders at the sound, like he can feel it caressing him.

When Mr. Stark is fully inside him, balls pressed to Peter’s ass, they both stop moving. Peter is staring at the bedside table in shock. There is a dick in his ass. It is Mr. Stark’s dick, and it feels much much bigger than it looked.

“You doing okay, Pete? Pretty quiet down there,” Mr. Stark says. He sounds as breathless as Peter feels.

“Yeah, I’m- yeah, it’s good. I’m good, Mr. Stark.” Peter kind of wishes there was a mirror, but doesn’t think he could take the visual.

Mr. Stark huffs a laugh, and Peter feels the way it shifts both of them. He shivers, the pressure building in his spine, making him want to move and arch.

“You can call me Tony; we’re pretty intimate by now,” Mr. Stark says.

“Okay, Mr. Sta- er- Tony,” Peter says.

“I’m gonna start moving now, hold on,” Mr. Stark teases.

Peter opens his mouth to say something, but then Mr. Stark rocks his hips, pulling out just slightly and then pushing in somehow _deeper_ and Peter loses his ability to speak. He groans and clutches the pillow under his head tight. Mr. Stark sets a slow, even rhythm, and Peter rocks back on him, his cock hardening again quickly. They shift and Mr. Stark’s cock brushes that spot inside him, making Peter’s whole body twitch. He whimpers, pushes back harder and it happens again, sparks behind his eyelids. When did he close his eyes?

“Harder,” Peter rasps.

Mr. Stark pulls out and then slams back in; shocking a higher pitched moan out of Peter. He slides his hands up Peter’s sides, sending shivers all through him, and then grips Peter’s shoulders, pulls him up so Peter is supporting himself on his arms now, giving Mr. Stark a better grip on Peter’s shoulders while he fucks him.

“Harder,” Peter says again, and it breaks some reserve they were both holding.

Mr. Stark fucks him faster, pulling Peter back onto his dick, slamming into him with low grunts. Peter keens, drops his head, focused on how his cock bounces, twitching with every thrust.

He’s babbling before he knows it. “Please, please, Mr. Stark, so good, feels so good, _god_ _yes. _So deep, please, please,” and Peter’s practically sobbing with how bad he wants to come.

Mr. Stark pulls out entirely and Peter gasps. He feels gaping, empty, needy, needing it, needing to be filled, he is nothing but want, fierce hot hunger. Mr. Stark pushes him over.

“On your back, kid, want to see your face when you come on my cock,” Mr. Stark growls. Peter flips over and spreads his legs wide.

“Yes, fuck, oh my god, please, please, Tony, I _want it so bad_, please, wanna come, wanna come with you-” Peter’s babbling is cut off with Mr. Stark’s mouth covering his.

This kiss is greedy, near violent with need. Their teeth clack; Peter whimpers into Mr. Stark’s mouth, grips his shoulders, cups the back of his neck.

Mr. Stark grabs Peter’s thighs and pushes his legs back. He uses one hand to guide his cock back inside and Peter moans. Mr. Stark doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t go slow this time, just slams into Peter over and over.

Peter arches his back, trying to move, to get friction on his cock, to get Mr. Stark deeper, something, _anything_. He’s going on instinct now, mind hazy with the need to come. He goes to grab his cock and Mr. Stark slaps his hand away. Peter blinks up, startled back into himself momentarily.

“You’ll come when I let you,” Mr. Stark growls. Peter stares, his cock twitching. Why is that so hot? Holy shit.

Peter twists his hands in the sheets, instead. Hears a ripping sound.

“Fuck, you’re so good, Pete, so good for me,” Mr. Stark groans. “So tight, Jesus Christ, honey, so fucking tight on my dick.”

Peter didn’t know he liked dirty talk, but his balls tighten at Mr. Stark’s words. He’s so close, wants to come so bad, doesn’t know how Mr. Stark is still fucking him. Peter looks down between their bodies and watches Mr. Stark’s dick disappearing into him, his own cock red and slick with precome, his balls so tight.

Peter presses his head back into the bed and tries to breathe, his hips jerking up to meet Mr. Stark’s thrusts of their own accord. Mr. Stark kisses him, deep and filthy, mouths along Peter’s jaw, panting. His speed slows, but now he’s putting more force behind each thrust, the slap of their skin loud in the room.

Mr. Stark wraps his fist around Peter’s dick, pumps once, and Peter can feel the edge of his orgasm; feels a painful constriction on his cock. Peter squeaks, staring down at where their bodies are connected. Mr. Stark squeezes the base of his cock tight and it _hurts_ but somehow feels good, his balls pressed down against his body. Peter feels his balls twitching, he’s strung tight and trembling on the edge, but nothing happens.

Peter throws his head back, pressing it into the bed, and keens, his body twitching. He’s shaking so hard he’s surprised they’re not moving the bed. Mr. Stark keeps thrusting into him, hard, sharp, so fucking good and deep.

“You ready to come, honey? Ready to come on my cock? Wanna feel it when you come, baby,” Mr. Stark murmurs, voice rough. Peter scrabbles at the bed, nodding wildly.

“Please, _please _yes, wanna come, please Mr. Stark, _Tony!” _Peter begs and thrashes when Mr. Stark’s hand tightens more.

“Such a good boy,” Mr. Stark says. He loosens his grip and only pumps twice before Peter is coming, trying to curl in on himself, crying out with the relief of finally, _finally _coming, clenching around Mr. Stark’s cock. Mr. Stark keeps fucking into him and Peter’s orgasm goes on and on, tears gather in the corner of his eyes.

He hears a deep groan that sounds like it’s being pulled from Mr. Stark’s chest, and then he feels a hot flood inside him. He can _feel _Mr. Stark’s cock twitching, pulsing inside him. Peter whimpers, and tightens his legs around Mr. Stark’s thighs. He can’t stop shaking, senses overloaded, twitches of pleasure still working through him.

Mr. Stark slowly collapses on top of him, both of them boneless, wrung out. Peter likes the weight of Mr. Stark holding him down. He’s warm, solid, but nothing Peter can’t hold up. He wraps his arms around Mr. Stark and nuzzles into his neck. Peter’s eyes feel heavy, and he doesn’t want to move.

“C’mon Pete, I gotta clean us up a little.” Mr. Stark pats his side.

He makes a noise in his throat and loosens his grip, but doesn’t want to let go. This is nice, cuddling is nice. He wants to fall asleep like this, forget clean-up.

Mr. Stark pulls his arms away and Peter’s too limp to cling tighter. Mr. Stark’s cock slips out of Peter and that’s a whole new feeling, empty and sticky. Something dribbles out of him, and if he thinks too hard about it his cock will be up for another round, but the rest of his body can’t take it. Peter keeps his eyes closed; doesn’t want to look at himself, wrecked and covered in come, can’t look at Mr. Stark because _holy shit that just happened._

He feels a damp washcloth pass over him, and between his legs. Peter blushes, finally opens his eyes and closes them again quickly when Mr. Stark looks at him, come filled washcloth in hand.

Mr. Stark pushes Peter to roll on his side and gets back into bed, spooning behind him, pulls a sheet over them. Peter relaxes into Mr. Stark’s chest; they’ll talk about this in the morning, it’ll be fine.

“We good, Pete?” Mr. Stark says softly.

“Uh huh, yeah, that was… amazing, Mr. Stark,” Peter says sleepily. He can’t keep his eyes open to save his life.

Later there’s movement, a chill as the blanket lifts. Mr. Stark kisses him, and Peter kisses back, sleepy and languid.

~*~

Peter’s eyes pop open when there’s a knock on the door. He sits up in the mess of a bed; when did he rip the sheets? He’s still naked, can feel that his hair is standing up on its own. The hotel room is bright with sunlight, birds chirping outside.

“Hey Peter, the bus to the airport is leaving in two hours.” Mr. Harrington knocks again. “You missed breakfast, are you okay?” He asks through the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just… on my phone.” Peter’s voice is like two octaves too high, but he doesn’t want Mr. Harrington to find Peter naked with Tony Stark in his room, because yikes that would be bad. That would be so bad.

“Okay, two hours. Let me know if you need to talk about anything.”

Peter scrambles out of bed, his muscles kind of sore from last night. He can’t tell if it was the battle with the monster or the sex. His face gets red and he nearly falls over. He had _sex _last night. With Tony Stark! Peter looks around the room.

“Mr. Stark?” He calls out quietly. There is nothing. No note, no sound, no extra clothes. Peter goes into the bathroom and can’t even find the rag that Mr. Stark used to clean him up.

What the fuck?

Peter searches through the suite and finds no trace of Mr. Stark. He goes into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. Was it a dream?

No, he definitely looks like he got fucked last night. Peter giggles to himself. He’s a mess. He gets in the shower, and finally finds evidence that it was real, when come drips out of him, down his thigh. Peter’s stomach clenches and he jerks off in the shower, thinking about last night. He wants to finger himself, but he’s never really tried that. He finishes cleaning himself off and gets out of the shower.

Peter searches for news on his phone while pulling on clothes. Someone has to have seen Mr. Stark, right? He’s got to be in Berlin by now.

There’s nothing.

It should be all over twitter. How is it possible no one has seen him?

Peter turns on the TV. The news is still talking about the attack last night, Mysterio and Night Monkey saving the day. Peter flips the channels and still finds nothing. How is this possible? Was it just a vivid dream? Maybe that was just water running down his thigh?

“What the hell,” Peter whispers to himself. He puts on his backpack, just in case, and goes to find Ned. He pounds on Ned’s door until he answers.

“Hey Pete, what’s up?” Ned says. “Have you heard we’re going to London on the way home? Betty is so excited.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, man, um, can I talk to you privately for a second?” Peter waves to Betty in the background and then crosses his arms over his chest.

Ned steps into the hall and closes the door. “Is this a guy in the chair thing?”

Peter’s voice gets higher. “No? Not really? Just- um-” Peter looks around and leans closer, whispering. “Have you ever had like… a really weird sex dream… like… about the Hulk or something?”

Ned frowns and moves his head forward. “No? Have _you _had a sex dream about the Hulk?”

“No!” Peter shout whispers, a couple across the hall gives them a disgusted look.

“Peter, what is this about? I’m supposed to help Betty pick out a lunch destination in London.”

“I think… Mr. Stark is back…?”

“No way!” Ned says full voiced.

“Shut. Up. Ned.” Peter says, drags Ned into his room and starts pacing. “I saw him last night, he was totally here; it couldn’t have been a dream, right?”

“Your room smells funky, dude, what did you do in here?”

Peter can feel his ears getting red, he shrugs, his shoulders almost up to his ears. “Nothing, dude, just, whatever.”

“Did you have a sex dream about Mr. Stark? Duuuude, that’s fucked up.” Ned laughs.

“It wasn’t a dream!” Peter says and slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Wait… Peter… did you have sex with Tony Stark?!” Ned stares at him. “Did you fuck a zombie? Was he like… younger? Cuz he’s kind of old, like… dude… your daddy issues are showing.”

Peter covers his face with his hands. “Oh my god, Ned, it’s not like that, it wasn’t- I didn’t… okay, so I totally did, but you know you’d do the same, he’s like… amazing. He saved the world. He’s Iron Man.”

“Was he wearing the armor when you did it?” Ned says with a skeptical look. “Because that probably was just an impersonator, Peter. Like in Times Square. Just because it was in Europe doesn’t mean it was real; did you at least use a condom?”

“Ned, oh my god, I’m not an idiot. It was Mr. Stark. I would know, right?” Peter says, trying to convince himself. He tries not to think about the condom comment. “And he wasn’t in the armor, he was wearing a suit.”

“So call Ms. Potts? Or Happy? Wouldn’t they know?”

“What if he came to see me first?”

Ned gives him a pitying look. “He has a wife and kid, and how would he know you were in Prague if he didn’t at least talk to Happy?”

Peter nods, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah of course, he told me he saw Pepper.” There’s a sick sinking feeling in his stomach.

Peter pulls out his phone and facetimes Happy. It feels like forever before Happy picks up. Ned waves in the background.

“Hey, Happy, uh, how’s it going?” Peter says, he tries to smile, but it feels weird.

“Hey, Peter, how’s Europe? You look a little sick, you okay?” Happy readjusts so his face is taking up the whole screen, like he’s trying to get closer to see Peter better.

“Um, it’s good- yeah- um… I have sort of a weird question for you.” Peter takes a breath.

“Shoot.”

Peter bites his lip, glances down. “Have you- have you seen Mr. Stark lately?”

There’s silence on the phone for so long that Peter has to look up. His stomach sinking further and further.

“Pete… he’s gone. I know it’s been hard for you… Pepper told me you were there, you saw it happen. He’s not-” Happy clears his throat. He looks so much older than before, so sad and tired. “Not even Tony could come back from that, kid.”

Peter tries to blink away his suddenly blurry vision. Shit.

“Yeah, um, okay, thanks Happy,” Peter says, coughs to hide the way his throat aches with unshed tears.

“Has something happened? Do you need me to come get you?” Happy asks. “I can be there in an hour or two.”

Peter hesitates. Something is going on, and he might need Happy. They’re headed home soon though, he can figure this out.

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine. I’ll see you when I get home,” Peter says.

“Alright, call me if you need anything,” Happy says. He hesitates. “I know it’s hard to go on without him, but he’d want you to.”

Peter can’t talk past the sudden lump in his throat. He nods and gives Happy a weak smile. They hang up and when Peter looks at Ned, he doesn’t care for the expression on his face.

“So you had sex with a Tony Stark look-alike?”

“Oh my god, Ned,” he groans.

“Did you suck his dick?”

“No, Ned, can you just drop it?” Peter covers his face with both hands. “It was Mr. Stark, it had to be… right?”

“Was the room really dark? Because some of the guys in Europe could pass for him in the dark, but I thought you had super senses?” Ned says. He thinks for a moment. “Was his dick big? Because honestly, Tony Stark is like the O.G. of Big Dick Energy.” 

Peter is not excited to be talking about this. It feels weird and private, is it supposed to feel like this? People say girls talk about everything. 

“I mean… it looked average? But it felt pretty big,” Peter says. Ned stares at him wide eyed. 

“It _felt _big? What does that mean, Peter?!” Ned says. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” Peter thinks his face is going to combust if it gets any hotter. If this were a less dire situation he might be more excited to talk about it. I mean… who thought he’d lose his v-card like this? No one, that’s who.

“Wow, I still can’t believe you lost your virginity to a Tony Stark look-alike.” Ned shakes his head. “That’s weird, dude.”

Peter looks at the ceiling, praying for strength. He feels hysterical laughter bubbling up, trapped in his chest. It had to be Mr. Stark, right? It sounded like him, felt like him, looked like him, god, he even smelled like him.

“Please tell me you used a condom,” Ned keeps talking. “What if you have a hidden superpower of getting pregnant?” Peter can’t help laughing at that.

“I’m not gonna get pregnant, Ned, what the hell?” Peter laughs again. He feels the hysteria of it now. How his chest is still tight. He laughs so hard tears come to his eyes. Who the hell fucked him last night if it wasn’t Mr. Stark? It had to be Mr. Stark.

“Peter, you’re freaking me out.” Ned says.

“I’m freaking me out too,” Peter says with a gasp, still laughing. He wipes the tears from his eyes.

They both startle when someone knocks on the door. Peter goes tense, inches forward and looks through the peephole. MJ is standing there, looking bored, but maybe nervous too. She raises her hand to knock again when Peter opens the door. He leans on the door jamb, trying to look totally casual.

“Hey MJ, what’s up?”

“Can I talk to you, um, do you want to take a walk?” MJ fiddles with the strap of her backpack.

This was all Peter wanted yesterday. Him and MJ on a walk, talking, he can give her the necklace now. But everything feels wrong and off. His whole world has tilted and turned upside down.

“Uh, sure, sure, yeah… let me grab something.” Peter shuts the door in her face, winces at how rude that was. Why didn’t he just invite her in for a second?

“Peter, what are you going to do?” Ned asks.

“I… I guess I’ll just stick to the plan? Tell MJ how I feel? If Mr. Stark doesn’t want people to know he’s back I’m not going to blow it for him,” Peter says with more bravado than he feels.

“What if it wasn’t Mr. Stark?”

“Then I’ll figure it out, okay? I gotta go.” Peter opens the door and MJ is by the banister, looking down the stairs.

“Ready?” MJ asks. 

Peter nods and follows her out of the hotel. They walk along a cobblestone street through an arch and then they’re on a bridge. There aren’t too many people around, everyone probably hungover from the festival last night.

“I’m glad we’re doing this. I have something I want to talk to you about…” Peter fumbles in his pocket.

Then MJ says something so wild it takes him a minute to process. She thinks he’s Spiderman. Peter denies it, immediately, vehemently. He is not Spiderman. The whole point of the stupid black outfit was so people wouldn’t figure it out. Peter denies everything, no matter how many facts she gives - wow she’s smart - or whatever observations she has, Peter will not admit he’s Spiderman. 

MJ pulls something out of her backpack, but as she does it lights up, jerks, and she drops the device in surprise. A swirling cloud monster erupts around them; a ghostly roar too quiet to be scary echoes across the bridge. When nothing more happens they figure out it’s a projector. Peter picks it up, wonders aloud who would do this, and is answered by a ghostly Mysterio ‘fighting’ in the scene.

Images race through Peter’s mind; Mysterio fighting the water monster, did his clothes even get wet? Did he? On the rooftop, talking with him, Beck didn’t touch Peter, but on the ground, he shook his hand, touched his shoulder, was very tactile.

Peter’s stomach flips over. What else could those projectors do?

He has to tell Fury, and Mr. Stark. They’ll be able to get the EDITH glasses back from Beck, everything will be fine.

At the back of his mind is a niggling worry. Could projectors this powerful create an illusion of a person? Mr. Stark had turned down the lights, had sounded off at one point… but there was touch, there was _a lot _of touching. It had to be Mr. Stark. It had to.

“Peter? Peter, are you okay?” MJ touches his shoulder and he jerks away, startled. “What’s going on?”

“Mysterio isn’t real, he’s behind this.” Peter forces the words out, his voice shaky. “I made a mistake.”

He admits he’s Spiderman because she might as well know. MJ is confused, after all his denials, but excited and proud of herself, but is he that obvious? Peter can’t think about who else might know. There’s already so much guilt inside him. How could he trust someone he just met? He knew next to nothing about Beck. He gave away EDITH without a second thought, just because he wanted to be a kid. He fought Thanos on an alien planet and then fought a war, he doesn’t get to be a kid after that. Not after seeing Mr. Stark die.

They run back to the hotel. MJ follows Peter upstairs and into his room. She wrinkles her nose, but doesn’t say anything. She probably just thinks this is how boys smell. It’s kind of gross, and he doesn’t want her to think he’s gross, but he’s got a bad guy to stop.

And if he sees Mr. Stark in Berlin… then he’ll know it was real. There are a bunch of reasons why Mr. Stark might not want the world to know he’s back. Villains won’t come after him, the media will leave him alone, he can be undercover like the Black Widow was instead of the face of the Avengers. That’s totally why no one knows he’s back. It’ll be like retirement, but he can still build cool stuff.

Peter digs out the Night Monkey suit, strips his shirt off, and then remembers MJ is in the room. She stares and then her eyes flick up and down. He knows that look now. She thinks he’s hot, wow, MJ likes him with a shirt off… Peter pushes those thoughts aside.

“Can you… turn around?” he asks, and then wonders if he has any bruises from last night.

“Uh, sure,” MJ says. She turns away and Peter struggles into his suit. He hates this, misses his spider suit. This one is too tight, too itchy and constricting.

“Woah… you know too?” Ned says, standing in the doorway. Peter startles and nearly falls over, tugging the shirt over his arms.

“He didn’t tell me, I figured it out,” MJ says.

Peter explains the illusions, the drones. Asks Ned to call May, create a cover story for his disappearance. 

“What about Mr. Stark?” Ned says, because of course he does. MJ frowns.

“Isn’t he dead?” MJ crosses her arms.

“Yeah,” Ned says, “but he came back last night to-” Peter vaults over the bed and covers Ned’s mouth.

“He came back last night to talk to me,” Peter says quickly. “As Spiderman. You know?”

“Riiiight, to _talk_,” Ned says with an understanding smile. Peter could throttle him.

“Dude,” Peter murmurs. “Be cool.”

“You guys are weird,” MJ says. “So… Mr. Stark is going to be in Berlin too? Why don’t you just leave it to him. He’ll figure it out and stop Mysterio.”

Peter bites his lip. “He might need my help. I gotta go, be careful guys.” Peter opens the window and webs out.

He hops on top of a train going to Berlin. There’s too much time for thinking now that he’s alone. Peter lays on his stomach on top of the train, sticking himself to it, rests his cheek on his arms. He can’t stop thinking about last night, the sound of Mr. Stark’s voice telling him not to come, the taste of his mouth, but there’s a knot of dread in his stomach. It had to be Mr. Stark, there was clearly a person there to touch and kiss and… do other things with. No, it was totally Mr. Stark. He’ll get to Berlin, explain Beck’s plan to Mr. Stark, and they’ll fix this together.

~*~

Peter hops off the train and does some stretches, a flip or two, just to make sure he’s limber enough if a fight happens. Outside the station, there’s a little bit of hubbub because the Night Monkey has shown up and Peter regrets not being more incognito. He walks toward the end of the block, unsure where to go when a black SUV with tinted windows pulls up. Peter sees movement behind the steering wheel.

When he opens the door, he expects to see Nick Fury, but there’s Mr. Stark, red tinted sunglasses on. He grins at Peter.

“Hop in, kid.”

The relief Peter feels makes his knees weak. He gets in the car and off they go. Of course Mr. Stark is back. Peter pulls his mask off, breathing easier.

“You decided to step up, huh? I thought you just wanted to be normal, be a kid for a while?” Mr. Stark glances over at Peter.

“I do, I did, I just- Beck isn’t who he says he is and I didn’t know if you’d need help or something. I had to warn you. He’s been using projectors to fool people, and I think, maybe drones, to make the Elemental monsters seem real.”

“And you gave him EDITH?” Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow.

Peter looks down at his lap, twiddles his fingers. “I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

“We all make mistakes, kid, no big deal. We’ll get the glasses back.” Mr. Stark pulls into a compound, hesitates before getting out. “You should probably let me do the talking, so he’s not on to you.”

Peter nods, ready to hop out, but Mr. Stark hesitates a little longer. He turns to Peter, cups his face in both hands, and kisses him warm and slow. Peter melts into his touch, shivers at the scratch of Mr. Stark’s goatee. Mr. Stark pulls back, looks him over one more time, and then gets out of the car. He waits for Peter to join him.

The walk up to the conference room is a blur. Peter’s lost in his own head, thinking about the feel of Mr. Stark’s lips on his, about what this means in the future. Is he like… Mr. Stark’s side piece? Is this the beginning of a relationship? Does Peter want that? What would it be like to date Mr. Stark? Peter imagines crazy vacations, the private planes; he’s already had a taste of that life, but how different would it be with Mr. Stark there with him, hands on him, mouth on him. Peter finds himself blushing; he needs to get his head out of the clouds before someone notices. This is game time, there’s a fight coming.

Fury and Hill are in a conference room, and neither seem surprised to see Mr. Stark. So some people do know he’s back, that’s good, Peter thinks he’d go crazy if he was the only one.

“Beck’s a fake,” Mr. Stark says without introduction. “I can’t believe you let him into your circle, Fury. You’re losing your touch, old man.” Mr. Stark goes to the window, doesn’t look at anyone. 

“Don’t insult me, Stark. Where were you? Holed up in your cabin, hiding from the world?” Fury says. Peter wants to step in, defend Mr. Stark, but he remembers saying he wouldn’t talk.

“Boys, this isn’t time for in-fighting. What’s his next play?” Ms. Hill speaks up.

“He’ll want to silence anyone who could expose his secret. We’re all at risk; did you tell anyone else, Peter?” Mr. Stark asks.

Shit, he put Ned and MJ at risk. He didn’t even think of that.

“Uh, yeah, just- you know, my team,” Peter hedges.

Mr. Stark gives him a surprised look. “Your team? You mean the Avengers?”

“No… uh…” Before Peter can say anything else there’s a loud boom, the building shakes.

“What the hell was that?” Fury shouts.

Peter feels cold all over and his arm hairs stand up. His Peter tingle is back, hell yeah.

“Beck’s here,” Peter says. The building rumbles again, moves, lists to the side.

Peter has a moment of clarity, of horror, the building is coming down. He throws himself on top of Mr. Stark, crashing to the floor as the building explodes around them. Rubble pelts them and a large chunk of the ceiling cracks, crashes to the floor, hitting Peter in the back. He tries not to breath in the dust, covers Mr. Stark’s mouth with his sleeve.

When the dust clears, Peter can’t see Fury or Hill, doesn’t know which way is up. But Mr. Stark groans, coughs beneath him, and that is enough.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Stark? Let me-” Peter pushes debris aside, lifts a heavy piece off of them.

“I’m alright, kid. Good instincts.” Mr. Stark coughs.

“Isn’t that sweet,” Beck’s voice appears, booms across the space. “What a touching reunion.” 

They stand amidst the rubble. Peter looks around, but doesn’t know where the voice is coming from. It seems to come from everywhere.

The room goes dark; it’s like Peter’s blind, can’t even see Mr. Stark next to him. When he reaches out he touches nothing. A hallway appears, filled with green smoke, like the powers Mysterio faked, and Peter runs down the hall in a panic. Where did Mr. Stark go? Does Beck have him?

“Peter!” Mr. Stark shouts, he sounds in pain.

Beck appears in front of Peter and he shoots a web right through him. It’s all fake, it’s just him using the projectors, but if he’s distracting Peter with illusions then where is Mr. Stark? Peter runs further down the hall, and feels the ground disappear from beneath his feet. He webs upwards, tries to stop his fall, but nothing catches, he can’t see where he is. Peter falls hard, feels it up his legs, and rolls trying to lighten the impact.

He’s standing on the Eiffel Tower with a sickly moon in the background. Beck has Mr. Stark by the throat. Mr. Stark is struggling, kicking out over nothing. Peter feels a scream building in his throat. His chest is tight; he just got Mr. Stark back, he can’t-

“I know this isn’t real,” Peter yells, but his voice shakes.

“Do you? I don’t think you know what’s real,” Beck sneers. 

Beck dangles Mr. Stark over the green clouds. Panic, utter panic, will he get to Mr. Stark in time? What’s beneath them, really? 

“Peter,” Mr. Stark rasps, his hands wrapped around Beck’s wrist. 

Peter lunges for them at the same moment Beck drops Mr. Stark. Peter changes course, reaching for Mr. Stark and missing. Peter dives over the edge, webbing desperately through the fog. Where did Mr. Stark go? Why can’t Peter find him? His webs disappear, go through everything and he can’t see or hear Mr. Stark. There’s a sickening thud when Peter hits the ground.

Peter pushes himself up, dazed. If he had his suit Karen would tell him he has a concussion he’s pretty sure.

Man, he misses Karen at times like this.

“Look at yourself,” Beck’s voice is magnified, powerful. Mirrors crash down, caging Peter in. He stumbles back, panting. This isn’t real, this isn’t real. He tries to tell himself over and over, but the danger is real. Where is Mr. Stark in all this? Is he seeing different illusions?

Peter looks in the mirror, lets out a squawk of indignation and covers his dick. In the mirror he’s naked. How is this possible? He looks down and his clothes have disappeared. But he can still feel them? That’s clearly his body though, scars and all. How would Beck have gotten this visual?

“You’re just a scared, desperate kid,” Beck says. “All you needed to do was step down, let the adults handle it.”

Mr. Stark appears in the mirrors, his eyes wide, panicked. Peter’s only seen him look like that on Titan. Peter reaches for him, terrified. His hands don’t go through, but land solidly on Mr. Stark’s shoulders. He feels a little taller, but that’s probably because Peter’s still technically naked.

“Are you okay? Mr. Stark? You’re real, right?” Peter clutches at him, hugging him close.

“Yeah, kid, I’m here, I’m real. We gotta get out of here.”

The glass around them shatters with the noise of a gunshot. Daylight is sudden and painful. Peter is no longer naked, but he’s still clutching Mr. Stark with desperation, his fingers digging into flesh. Mr. Stark winces and Peter lets go, apologetic.

Beck is on the ground, struggling to breath, blood flowing from a gunshot in his back. Fury stands to the side, gun raised. Thank God for Nick Fury. Peter lets out a shaky breath, his head aching, his eyes burning with the need to cry. He is not a little kid, he can’t break down right here.

“You did great, kid.” Mr. Stark pats him on the back, rubs his shoulder warmly. Peter wants to collapse into him, let Mr. Stark take care of the cleanup and the details of arresting Beck.

Fury has other ideas. “Beck’s people are still out there, Peter. Whoever you told about this is in danger.”

“I- uh…” Something feels off. Peter feels cold all over, his Peter tingle at work. But he can’t tell what the problem is. Beck is still on the ground, a team of people taking over the compound.

“Give the kid a break, Fury. You’ve done enough,” Mr. Stark says, heatedly. “C’mon kid, talk to me over here.” Mr. Stark guides him further away from Fury, from Beck, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Did you tell your friends about Beck? We’ll get a team to protect them.”

Peter bobs his head. He’s always putting the people he cares for at risk.

“You told that girl, right? Emma?” Mr. Stark snaps his fingers, trying to remember her name.

“MJ,” Peter mumbles. It feels weird to talk about MJ with Mr. Stark now. “I told Ned too, he’s my guy in the chair.”

“Okay, Ned and MJ, anyone else we need to protect?” Mr. Stark asks, moving his hand to Peter’s chest.

“Um, Ned might have told his girlfriend Betty, I don’t know,” Peter says. Something doesn’t feel right. He squints at Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark grins, but there’s something off, something dark in his eyes. A pit of horror opens in Peter’s stomach.

“You really are a sweet kid, Pete,” Mr. Stark says.

Then he shoves, hard. Peter stumbles, falls on the ground, looking up in confusion as the image of Mr. Stark shimmers. Peter opens his mouth to scream, but there’s already a loud noise, and then darkness.

Peter clings, clings to the train, clings to life. Crawls inside with his last bit of strength and lets the darkness take him.

~*~

When Peter regains consciousness, he’s in a dingy jail cell with a bunch of painted guys in orange. His head still aches, his whole body hurts, and he’s freezing. He has to get out, get to his friends. Peter talks to the men, figures out where the heck he is, he’s lucky it’s the same day. Peter limps to the door, breaks the lock, and leaves. The Netherlands is a weird place.

Once he calls May, he has nothing to do but wait. Those last moments at Berlin come back to him, and Peter sinks to the ground, his legs giving out. Mr. Stark pushed him in front of a train.

Peter shakes his head. There was no way… the image had shimmered… like it was an illusion. Beck had used Mr. Stark’s image, his voice, to get Peter to tell him about his friends. Shit, he was such an idiot, after all those illusions he just trusted. Stupid, stupid.

But then where was the real Mr. Stark? Beck must have captured him. He has the EDITH glasses, and maybe now that he has Mr. Stark he could reprogram them or something. But Mr. Stark could get an Iron Man suit and fight back, couldn’t he? Peter clutches his chest, where Mr. Stark had shoved him, where his heart hammers. Mr. Stark has to be okay, he can’t lose him again.

And a terrible, whispering part of his mind asks if Mr. Stark ever made it to Berlin. Murmurs that Beck can make people see whatever he wants. If it wasn’t really Mr. Stark that pushed him, was it really Mr. Stark that fucked him?

Peter limps the rest of the way to the field of tulips where a Stark jet lands, blowing flower petals every which way. For a moment, Peter expects Mr. Stark to step out of the jet and berate him for not calling for help sooner.

Happy hurries down the steps, and as relieved as Peter is to see him… there’s a sinking disappointment. Beck really has Mr. Stark. Peter hurries toward Happy and the sudden panic of Fury, of illusions, of things he can’t see grips him.

“Wait! Stop!” Peter shouts, throwing his arm out. He wants to burst into tears. What if none of this is real? Maybe he’s not in the Netherlands at all, just in a really convincing illusion, what if he’s still trapped by Beck?

“Are you real?” Peter’s voice shakes.

“What the-” Happy stops. “Peter what the hell is going on? Of course I’m real?”

“Tell me something only you would know, the real you.” Peter swallows back the lump in his throat. What will he do if Happy can’t- if Happy isn’t really here? How will he find his way out of the illusions?

“Uh, okay, remember when we were in Germany, and I teased you about watching some adult movies? It was on the bill, but you didn’t know how I knew…”

Did he have to pick the most embarrassing thing? “Stop, stop, I get it,” Peter says. He limps the final distance and clings to Happy.

“You gotta tell me what’s going on, kid,” Happy says, worry thick in this voice.

Happy helps him onto the jet, patches Peter up as best he can. Peter doesn’t want to know how Happy knows how to do such tight stitches, or the proper way to bandage broken bones. Hopefully, his leg will heal before he has to fight Beck again.

“Mr. Stark is back and Beck has him,” Peter breathes out. Happy has to understand the importance of what’s happening. “We need to save him.”

Happy gives him a pitying look. Why does everyone look at him like that when he talks about Mr. Stark? Ned had looked at him the same way.

“Kid… he’s gone… we talked about this,” Happy says softly.

“Maybe he just hasn’t told you yet,” Peter says angrily. Guilt follows immediately. Of course Mr. Stark would tell Happy he was back, right?

“We were both at the funeral, Peter. It’s hard-” Happy’s voice wobbles. “It’s hard to accept, but Tony’s gone.”

Peter’s chest cracks open. He’s not gone, he can’t be. Peter touched him; Peter _kissed _him. Did a lot more than kissing. Fury and Hill saw him too. It has to be real.

“Call Miss Potts… er… Mrs. Stark?” 

Happy gives him a hard look. “You really want me to call Pepper and ask if she’s seen Tony around?”

Peter winces. Yeah, that sounds bad. Sounds selfish. What if she doesn’t know either? But hadn’t Mr. Stark said he saw her? Peter replays the beginning of the night… Mr. Stark had only implied he’d go see his wife first. What if Peter really was the first person he’d told, trusted to keep this a secret? Shit.

“You said Mysterio had these illusions… what if Tony was one of them?” Happy says. It’s the logical thing. It makes sense.

But if that’s true… if that’s what happened… Peter can’t even think of it. Who did he have sex with then? How was it so real?

“That’s not- no- Happy… you weren’t there. It sounded like him… I touched him. He was real.” Peter blushes, looks down at his hands.

“Pete… is there something you’re not telling me?” Happy says quietly. “You know you can trust me… what really happened?”

Peter shakes his head. There is no way he can tell Happy. Telling Ned was bad enough. And if it wasn’t even Mr. Stark… Peter doesn’t think he can stand the humiliation of that. God, he was so fucking desperate, pathetic.

Happy sighs. “Give me a couple minutes,” he says.

Peter sits in agony, waiting for Happy to come back from the cockpit. He doesn’t know what to do next. He needs his suit, he has to save Mr. Stark, stop Beck, save his friends. He can’t think about the other night, can’t think about what it means if that wasn’t real.

Happy comes back, his face drawn. He looks tired. Everyone looks so much older these days, and part of Peter knows it’s because five years passed, but it feels like it’s because of the battles, because of Mr. Stark’s death. He’s lucky that Ned, and May, and MJ were all part of the blip too; he can’t imagine coming back to find Ned in college, to see May with gray in her hair, or with a man he’s never met.

“Pepper is worried about you,” Happy says.

Peter hides his face in his hands. What has he done? He needs to save Mr. Stark, prove he’s back. It had to be him. It _had _to.

~*~

Peter is in his new suit, the jet hovering over London, his stomach tight with nerves. His leg has mostly healed, but his head still feels tight and achy. He just wants this to be over so he can sleep for days. Preferably with Mr. Stark there to watch over him. Peter doesn’t know what it means that Mr. Stark came to him first, but he’ll find out when he saves him.

It's kind of easy to take down the drones once Peter knows they're there. He's injured, sure, but most of his wounds have already healed. Peter fucks things up enough that Beck's illusion shuts down, and he finds the man himself on a bridge overlooking everything. He's got a projector bubble on his head, and a weird motion capture suit like actors wear. Peter doesn't see Mr. Stark with him, but who knows where the rest of the team is operating. There is no way this is a one man show. 

Peter webs over to the bridge, fights his way through an army of drones, and gets inside. Beck is nowhere in sight, but Mr. Stark is crouched in the corner at the end of the bridge, holding his arm close to his chest like he's injured. Peter runs to him and collapses to the floor with relief. 

"Mr. Stark! I thought he- I didn't-" Peter's breath is sharp in his chest. He hugs Mr. Stark and helps him stand.

"Thank God, you’re here, kid,” Mr. Stark says, but something wrong. Peter pulls off his mask; it’s hard to breath.

Mr. Stark cups his cheek, rubs his thumb over a graze on Peter’s face. He didn’t realize it was there, but now it stings. Mr. Stark grins; it looks maniacal.

“You really still buy this shit?" Mr. Stark laughs. "Oh man, I thought you'd have figured it out by now." 

Peter freezes, his Peter tingle making him cold all over. He squeezes Mr. Stark's wrist. He's real, he's alive... but…

"You just don't want to believe it, you’re so desperate for him to be alive, for him to want you," Mr. Stark sneers, and it still sounds like him, but Mr. Stark would never say… It's not- “I really thought pushing you in front of a train would be enough.” 

Mr. Stark grabs Peter’s hair painfully, tips his head and kisses him hard, biting, demanding. Peter whimpers and gives into the kiss, succumbs for the moment. 

Peter opens his eyes and it’s no longer Mr. Stark he’s kissing, but Beck. Beck pulls back; smirks even as Peter shoves him hard enough to knock him into the glass. Beck gasps out a laugh, two drones on either side of him. Peter’s skin is crawling.

"We could keep pretending, Peter," Beck says, "you don't have to let Tony Stark go." His image flickers and it's Mr. Stark in front of him again. He smiles at Peter, his eyes crinkling. Peter leans back on the wall, trying to keep his feet under him. It’s so real, he looks so real.

Real enough to fool a desperate kid. Peter wants to claw his suit off, his skin itches, burns with shame. He’d let Beck fuck him, it had been Beck the whole time. Mr. Stark would never- wouldn’t want some kid- of course- he has- had a wife. Peter gulps down air, trying not to vomit.

Mr. Stark stalks forward - no _Beck_, it’s Beck even if he looks like Mr. Stark - pins Peter against the glass. “I can give you whatever you want, honey. Take care of you, praise you, you’re so good for me, Peter.” Mr. Stark – Beck – kisses Peter’s jaw, and he realizes now the scratch of beard is too much, he can feel Beck’s beard, not the light scratch of a goatee.

There were so many signs, so many flaws in the performance, but Peter ignored them all. He closes his eyes, pictures that night, how he hadn’t undressed Mr. Stark, probably because Beck was wearing his stupid motion capture suit for most of it. How the hair felt longer, his voice sounded off sometimes. There were so many giveaways and Peter had missed every single one.

“It’s easy to fool people who are already fooling themselves,” Beck murmurs.

Peter shoves at Beck half-heartedly, but he just presses his full weight against Peter, holding Peter’s hands up above his head. Peter refuses to cry, but his eyes fill with tears regardless of his intentions.

“Why? You already had EDITH… what did you get out of it?” Peter whispers, his voice shaking.

“Besides a truly spectacular fuck?” Mr. Stark cocks an eyebrow. “Honestly, I thought I’d give you a little closure, reassure you that giving the glasses away was a good choice. Then I planned to knock you out, make you think it was a dream, or some sort of vision.”

Peter closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Mr. Stark’s face. Even now part of him wants it to really be Mr. Stark, just brainwashed, just tortured into working with Beck. Any of that would be better than the truth.

“But then you were so… _needy_,” Beck says. Peter can better hear the echo of Beck’s voice with his eyes closed, it hurts a little less. “So wanting and desperate. I decided to have a little fun, take what Stark never did. It was a calculated risk; if you’d ever slept with Stark I didn’t think my illusions would hold up. You never did get to fuck him, did you?”

Peter keeps his eyes squeezed shut, his senses overloaded already. He hurts inside and out.

“Mr. Stark would never do that,” Peter chokes out. He knows deep down that’s true, he should have known, but Beck is right. He just wanted so much, too much.

“Then you should be thanking me, Peter, for giving you what you want.” Beck rocks their hips together. “All you have to do is sit here quietly, baby, then I’ll give you everything.”

Nausea rises in Peter, feels it burn the back of his throat. He opens his eyes. Mr. Stark smirks at him; no wonder he looked younger. Peter wonders if Beck is keeping the illusion up for protection. If so, it’s working.

Peter could just let Beck win, could sink to the floor and wait for it all to be over. He could stop fighting so hard, he could fall apart the way he’s wanted to since that battlefield strewn with bodies. Beck would pretend to be Mr. Stark, would hold him and tell him everything is alright.

Beck steps back, must sense his defeat. Peter slumps to the floor. He’s so tired, his leg still twinging at the strange angle he has it.

“Go on and thank me, honey,” Mr. Stark says.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says automatically.

“No, no, I want you to say my name,” Beck says and smirks down at him. Peter can’t believe he ever thought Beck looked like Mr. Stark.

Peter covers his face with his hands, who will he be if he gives up now? Mr. Stark never gave up, gave his life for Peter, for everyone. And now just for comfort he was going to play pretend? The plan is already in motion, Fury knows by now that Beck is fake, but will SHIELD be able to stop him if he has EDITH? Can Peter sit here while Mysterio saves the day?

Beck taps his foot. “I’m waiting, Pete, daddy has things to do,” Beck says. 

What’s the point? He’s given Beck everything else, might as well give him this.

Beck types on the pad on his arm, illusions firing up again outside.

“Peter, Pete, what’s going on?” Happy’s voice is tinny, the mic trapped in his mask. Peter pulls on his mask, sees Spiderman reflected in the glass.

He is Spiderman, not Peter Parker whose mentor died, not desperate fucked up Peter Parker. Spiderman wouldn’t give up. Spiderman existed before Mr. Stark, and he has to be here after. Spiderman is an Avenger.

He can’t have more death on his hands, doesn’t want to mourn more people. Peter stands up, webs the drones next to Beck, webs the control system he has on his arm. Beck swears, tries to fight back, the image outside glitching.

“All you had to do was stay out of it,” Beck shouts. He looks deranged, angry. Peter has to remember he’s just a man with some fancy technology.

The drones disappear and Beck is Mr. Stark again. Peter’s heart hurts, but he has to trust his tingle, trust his instincts. His body twitches to the left - there’s a drone, and he moves without really knowing what to do - dodging, webbing, drones exploding around him. A bullet grazes his arm, and the pain centers him. Mr. Stark would never hurt him.

Beck won’t drop the illusion though. Peter closes his eyes and punches Beck, knocks him to the floor. Beck laughs, lip bleeding.

“If you kill me, I’ll release the video and everyone will know how fucked up Tony Stark was,” Beck says, no longer using Mr. Stark’s image as a shield. He presses some buttons on his wrist and crisp footage of their night in Prague is projected on the glass. “How old are you here? Could be fifteen, could be seventeen.”

On the wall is Peter, naked, on all fours with his ass in the air. Mr. Stark fucking into him. Video Peter is making indecent sounds; the slap of flesh feels like it’s inside Peter’s head.

Peter heaves, but there’s nothing in his stomach to come up. He holds himself up on the glass, shaking. He just needs EDITH; once he has the glasses there will be a way to delete the footage, erase it from existence. He wishes it was that easy to get rid of those memories. Peter lunges for Beck, but he rolls out of the way, stands back up.

“Is Mr. Stark not enough for you, Peter?” Beck says and the illusion flickers. He’s Steve Rogers, blond and bright. Peter’s mouth falls open.

“We could make a whole series of videos, Queens,” Cap says. “You with each of the Avengers, ruin their image.”

“No,” Peter breathes, mouth dry.

The image of Cap flickers, becomes Black Widow.

“Would you really say no to me?” Black Widow arches an eyebrow. She starts unzipping her suit and Peter lunges again, punching, knocking Beck to the floor. He has to destroy all the drones. Then he won’t be able to make these sick illusions.

Peter pauses, his tingle sending shivers down his spine. He punches to the left as a gunshot rings out. The illusions drop, Black Widow disappears, and Beck stares at Peter in surprise. Peter wrenches the gun from Beck’s grip, the smell of smoke and blood choking him. He steals the glasses off Beck’s face with his other hand.

Beck looks down and Peter follows his gaze. Blood spreads across the front of Beck’s suit. He slumps to the ground, struggling to breathe.

Peter’s trembling all over, still holding the gun. He tosses it away from him. Pulls off his mask and shoves the glasses on.

“EDITH, cancel all illusions.” Peter doesn’t even recognize his own voice.

“Execute all cancellation protocols? Please confirm,” EDITH says, and it’s weird to hear no emotion after all that.

“Execute them all,” Peter says. He looks down at Beck, who’s gasping, curled over his stomach.

“People will believe anything nowadays, just like you,” Beck snarls, his chest hitching. He sighs and goes still.

“EDITH… is this… is he?”

“No pulse detected.”

“Is this real?” Peter kneels next to Beck’s head.

“All illusions have been dismantled,” EDITH says, and Peter finally feels relief.

“Delete footage from Prague,” Peter tells EDITH. He doesn’t want to take any chances that could leak. Doesn’t want to remember.

Peter sits down and looks at Beck, still not fully believing he’s dead. But he doesn’t blink, doesn’t move.

It was over so fast; Peter didn’t even try to stop the bleeding. Could he have webbed the wound, kept Beck alive long enough to get help? Tears stream down Peter’s face. He did it though, he saved the world. Why doesn’t that feel like enough, like triumph? All Peter feels is this queasy grief, loss. 

Peter carefully leans over and closes Beck’s eyes. 

He forces himself to memorize Beck’s face. He just killed the person he lost his virginity to. It wasn’t Mr. Stark; he wasn’t real, just a fantasy. This is the man Peter slept with, a man who manipulated him, pushed him in front of a train. Peter runs his fingers through Beck’s hair, pats it back from where it had fallen forward. Tries to rewrite his memories of that night. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. He trusted Beck, had no doubts about his integrity, his story. 

For a moment, Peter wonders… if Beck had come to him that night, as himself, lonely, kind, pretending in a different way, what would Peter have done? It’s a question he’ll never be able to answer. One he doesn’t want to answer. Peter sniffles, wipes at his face. Would that have been less of a betrayal or more?

Of course this would happen to him, of course this is how he loses his virginity. Peter hears a racking, throaty noise and realizes it’s coming from him. He can’t tell if he’s laughing or sobbing. Everything hurts and he can’t stop. He takes big gulping breaths, and buries his face in his hands. How is he supposed to go on with all that’s happened?

“Peter?” A quiet voice in his ear startles him. Peter hiccups. There’s blood everywhere, pooling under Beck’s body. He scoots away quickly, horror growing.

It’s just Happy, he reminds himself.

“Yeah, Happy?” Peter sniffles.

“Are you okay, I heard… I can hear you. You don’t sound right,” Happy says, in that worried soft voice. Peter wants to scream.

“I’m fine, just- I’m okay.”

Happy lets him lie, doesn’t try to ask more questions. Peter leaves the bridge, leaves Fury to clean up this mess.

When Peter drops to the ground the pain in his leg nearly buckles him. He limps and hops along, not really sure where he’s going. He just needs to get as far from Beck’s body as possible.

He sees MJ running toward him, a mace in her hand. She tosses it aside and he flinches away when she tries to hug him. Her face falls. Peter bites his lip so it won’t wobble. How is it possible that all he wanted two days ago was to kiss her? Now… now he doesn’t deserve her. He fucked up so bad, so much. Beck saw how twisted Peter is and used that against him. How many other people can see it? MJ probably can too.

“Are you… are you okay?” she asks, fidgeting. It looks like she wants to say more, but Peter slaps on a smile; never mind that it makes his cheek ache, and that his arm is definitely bleeding still from a bullet.

“Yeah, I’m great, are you okay?” Peter asks.

MJ looks at him funny, tilts her head. “Yeah… um… yeah. You don’t- you look… you should see a doctor or something. You’re bleeding. Like, a lot.”

“Oh, yeah, I gotta go talk to, uh, my people.” Peter gestures over his shoulder. “I’ll… I’ll see you soon.”

Peter limps away from MJ. What would she think if she saw that video, what would his classmates think? There’s something wrong with him, and he doesn’t want to hurt MJ with it.

Later, after he’s changed into civilian clothes, he meets up with everyone else. He wishes the Stark jet hadn’t been blown up so he could hide, not have to see anyone, or talk to anyone. Happy gives him worried looks, Ned wants to talk about how crazy everything was, and Peter just wants to claw his skin off. His senses feel doubled up while his body heals. The sound of people breathing makes him want to punch something; every sigh sounds like Beck’s last.

And Beck’s words keep haunting him. He was so tempted to stop fighting, to give in, let Beck pretend to be Mr. Stark. He’s humiliated that he even believed Mr. Stark was back in the first place, and betrayal sits heavy in his chest, a stone he can’t dislodge. Mr. Stark would be disgusted by his wants. It was too good to be true.

MJ and Ned chatter on either side of him about Spiderman, but he can’t bring himself to chime in, even to tell them to keep it down. Snippets of that night keep playing in his head and he can’t stop it. Mr. Stark calling him honey, the sight of Mr. Stark’s dick disappearing inside him…but it was Beck. It was Beck, he tries to remind himself.

Something touches his arm and Peter jerks so hard he breaks his seatbelt. MJ looks wounded, but schools her face into worry. She says something, has to repeat it. He shakes his head.

Every touch feels tainted. Beck did something to him, twisted him, or maybe it was there all along. 

Beck is gone, but he’ll haunt Peter for a long time.


End file.
